


This Little Piggy Stayed Home

by hellhoundsprey



Series: triggerfinger!verse [4]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Barebacking, Choking, Dirty Talk, Humiliation, Infidelity, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Top Jeffrey Dean Morgan, bottom alan ackles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:54:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23541925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/pseuds/hellhoundsprey
Summary: Ackles doesn’t suck dick like someone who happily married their high school girlfriend.2020 kink bingo square 12: dirty talk
Relationships: Alan Ackles/Jeffrey Dean Morgan
Series: triggerfinger!verse [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/964137
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27
Collections: SPN Kink Bingo 2020





	This Little Piggy Stayed Home

Hard to tell when Alan is truly still asleep or only pretends. Bastard is practiced, Jeff’s gotta give him that.

Jeff lies, “I know you’re awake,” with his fingers shoving into that mouth.

Weak stirring atop of Jeff’s chest, fluttering lashes. A sharp inhale as Alan comes to. Doesn’t even complain. Raising three kids does that to you, Jeff guesses.

“Don’t think you came here for naps.”

Alan doesn’t gag upon Jeff fingering his uvula; not at first and not for a long while. Still drifting and he smiles, eventually, and Jeff joins in on that.

“You with me, Ackles?”

Alan hums.

“Good.”

Jeff’s free hand pushes at the back of that head. The other slips from that throat and pets along that face as Alan catches up and slides down.

Jared changed the sheets last night for obvious reasons. There’s a hint of crispness left in them now and Morgan is confident they’ll take care of that. Still only, what, like, four PM?

Jeff tells him, “There you go,” and keeps petting that hair, all gentle because Alan is so easy to boss around. Has his mouth on Jeff’s dick like it’s pure instinct, like his wife doesn’t expect him back for Sunday Mass tomorrow morning.

Nuzzles and sighs and breathes in. Drags tongue and teeth and all Jeff’s gotta do is yank on that hair a little and he’s let in, warm and cozy and welcome.

Jeff sighs the comfortable sigh of a bad, bad man.

“You go ahead and get that hard and I might let you come sit on it again.”

There are many dedicated souls in Jeff Morgan’s life. Some more distant than others and of course there’s Jared, who is A Thing in itself, but out of everyone, Ackles is special. Not the only closeted or married guy, absolutely not, just… _something_ about him.

’Bout the way he’s always so sweet, so tender-looking. Still got a hard time asking for things because, by god, he _knows_ he doesn’t deserve any of it. Jeff’s always so fucking sentimental for the ones he’s been The First for after decades of pretension, of wedding and bedding women and fathering children and yet not being able to bury _that_ side of themselves.

“You get her off like this, too? Eat her out and think of me?”

Alan’s eyes flash at him for the first time in what might be an hour.

Nothing in there but openness. Of willingness.

Jeff’s grin sharpens. “Oh, you’re definitely gonna do that tonight.”

A soft noise, deep from within where Jeff likes to think nobody but him can reach. Alan’s cheeks hollow out pretty.

Alan’s the kind of devoted that gets you in goddamn trouble.

“Yeah, gonna give her the full deal while your sorry little dick gets nothing but the sheets.”

He _feels_ that heat rushing into that head. Loves how much wetter the slide gets, immediately. How cute the apples of those cheeks flush bright and how those hands stay in clear sight.

Jeff would call him a good boy if Alan was one and would crave the praise.

As things are, though, “All you’re good for, aren’t you,” dragged thumb along the slippery corner of that mouth, the stretch of those lips.

Ackles doesn’t suck dick like someone who happily married their high school girlfriend. Like someone who does the clerical work at an auto shop and gets into surprisingly heated arguments with customers that don’t share his point of view on classic vehicles. Who bled his heart out only last week about how his only daughter is starting to date a boy now and God, Jeff, I don’t know what to do, she’s my _girl_ , you know?

Hangs off of Jeff like it’s all he’s ever wanted, all sustenance he needs. Has to visibly hold himself back from chasing what Jeff pulls him off of, pupils all blown and frothed spit stringing from his chin; his face one giant sign screaming _please_ and Jeff would never let him have the illusion of him being a good man, ever.

“You don’t come,” he grits, yanking at Alan so brisk he nearly loses balance, “you come and I’ll fucking tie you to the fucking chair out in the backyard.”

Alan straddles him, breathless already; and maybe Jeff shouldn’t threaten him with a good time but then again Alan’s aware that he’s supposed to play along—be good and listen and maybe, maybe you get to come. If I feel like it.

Remnants of come and lube successfully survived the intermission and Alan sinks down on Jeff’s cock easily, stutter-y, knees wide and hands all sweet on Jeff’s stomach. Works himself on it until he sits flush, until he sighs like relief and Jeff slaps his ass once before he steadies a mean grip on those hips to use him right.

“Fuck me like you mean it,” grunts Jeff, and Alan groans before he settles, loosens, gets his hands on the mattress instead to gather himself some leverage.

Alan is religious with his morning aerobics but still runs out of breath and composure so fast once Jeff’s cock is involved. ’S like he forgets to walk and talk, all boneless.

Jeff pants, “What’s that, huh?” and his palm comes away wet with the strict smack to Alan’s straining, ignored cock. Alan barely flinches—gasps, though, once Jeff holds him up and secures a too-tight grip on his balls.

Whimpers, “Please,” and whines when he gets what he wants.

Feels good to pull, to crush. How tight Ackles snaps up around his cock, milks him stupid and sobs pretty upon Jeff gritting, “Fucking keep moving,” with those testes still squished in his fist, and Alan does, he really does.

Sniffs all pained now while he bounces in Jeff’s lap, works his already-overstimulated prostate in tight-tight strokes, just like Jeff would demand it if he had to.

Drips weak ropes of precome on the hairy curve of Jeff’s belly, and Jeff reminds, “Don’t fucking come, you fucking slut,” and Alan doesn’t.

Lets Jeff groan and come and fill him up further, lets his head droop so Jeff can lick into his mouth, behind his teeth. Cuddles up tight while Jeff grinds him down on his still-twitching cock, tells him, “This all you need,” without the hint of a question.

Jeff rolls them over, eventually, still kissing the wet breath out of that mouth.

Spreads his knees so he can roll his hips, can bury that dad bod underneath himself and put his hands around that throat to feel his racing pulse as he bears down.

Reminds, again, “Don’t you come,” and Alan’s already reddening, eyes fluttering shut in bliss and he gurgles a sound, something, uselessly, as he softly drapes his arms around Jeff’s neck.


End file.
